Betrayal of the Highest Order
by Dragen7
Summary: War. Betrayal. Recovery. Corruption. Such is the nature of the modern Wizarding World. Evil thrives. Victory and Truth come only from within.
1. Chapter 1: Once Upon a Dream

**Betrayal of the Highest Order**

Dragen7

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I do not own Harry Potter. All characters and plot lines from the original story are property of JK Rowling.

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**Firstly, this is my first story. Actually my first narrative of any length greater than a couple pages. Convinced by a certain author to try, so… here I am. I'll generally try keeping these ANs short. Constructive criticism is welcomed, especially as I do not have, nor do I plan on having, a beta, nor do I have much experience. Please no ranting of how astoundingly bad of a writer I am. Actually, on second thought, any reviews at all would help.**

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Chapter 1: Once Upon a Dream

_Harry and Cedric touched the Cup together. They suddenly felt the gut wrenching tug of a portkey. Landing roughly on the ground, Harry heard the chilling voice, "Kill the spare." It was cold and condescending, high and silky smooth. Instantly, Harry launched himself at the Hufflepuff Champion, both narrowly escaping the flash of green directly above them. _

"_Cedric, circle around to the other side and get him. I'll cover you," Harry whispered under his breath. Frightened yet still surprisingly calm, Cedric complied, slowly making his way under the cover of gravestones._

"_Come out, Potter," the voice said tauntingly, "this is no place to play. Wormtail, actually get the other boy, you incompetent fool," the voice commanding, switching from sickeningly playful to commanding._

_Harry sucked in a breath, realizing who exactly the voice was commanding. His vision went red with rage; Peter Pettigrew was still actively assisting Voldemort. Even after everything that happened. Jumping from cover, he yelled, "Expelliarmus!" The flash of light was only met by a shield charm. Quickly, Harry jumped back to cover when a sickly purple spell flew straight at him. He then saw a stunner from the other side narrowly miss Wormtail. Recognizing Cedric, he leaped to his feet and again uselessly cast a Disarmer. Thinking quickly, he figured that he must use stronger spells if he was to actually stand a shadow of a chance._

"_Wormtail." The voice sighed, almost as if chuckling. In a flash, Wormtail spun and transformed into a rat, avoiding Harry's next, more powerful, reductor curse. The blue light streaked across the graveyard, and Harry watched in horror as it impacted upon Cedric. Time seemed to stand still as Cedric's eyes met Harry's one last time, conveying horrified confusion; the body then exploded outwards, covering the proximity with body parts. Harry stared, his mind seemingly unable to process what had just occurred. Taking half a step forward, he stopped, eyes widening, as if suddenly realizing what had just happened. Opening his mouth in a silent scream, the last thing his mind registered was a flash of red light before all went dark._

_Harry woke up slowly, only regaining consciousness to realize that he couldn't move. His limbs were bound by rope to a large gravestone. He was still in the graveyard, that much was clear. There was no other word for it. Haunting, dark, sinister, without a star in the sky. A ring of light circles surrounded the encampment, most pulsing slowly. The rat himself, Wormtail, was working below him, stirring a clear potion. Eyes wandering, his gaze fell upon a bundle, in which there lay something that appeared vaguely human, but clearly part snake. Rat-like, Wormtail scurried to pick up the bundle, placing it into the cauldron. Facing Harry, he shoved a gag into his mouth to keep him from uttering noises. He could taste the filthy grime on his lips. Harry silently wished the bundle would drown, but it was to no avail._

"_Bone of the father, unknowingly given," Wormtail began softly, chanting in a guttural voice. "You will renew your son!" The potion turned dark. He continued to pick up a silver knife. Slowly raising it,he sliced his right hand off without so much as a grimace. He picked it up with his left hand, and dropped it into the potion, chanting "Flesh of the servant, willingly given. You will revive your master." Harry winced at this stage, and looked at Wormtail in horror as he approached him with the knife. Wormtail took his left arm and cut a long slice into it, collecting the blood into a vial. Harry shouted in pain, but it was silenced by the gag. Wormtail continued without pause, for all the world looking like a normal potioneer going about his business. He tipped the vial into the now bubbling, white potion. "Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe."_

_The cauldron exploded in a cloud of black smoke. The silhouette of a tall figure emerged in the dissipating cloud. "Robe me, Wormtail," the high voice commanded. Harry watched in horror as the newly robed and resurrected Lord Voldemort stepped into the light. The laugh emanating from the new body chilled Harry to the bone. He was completely hairless, his face the stuff of nightmares. A pale, grey complexion, combined with the lack of a nose, the long, thin fingers, and the black, billowing robes painted the very image of evil. He grinned suddenly, and moved around. Taking the wand handed to him by Pettigrew, he turned to face Harry directly._

"_It has been far too long, Harry Potter," he said, almost tasting the words on his lips. "You have caused me much… grief. But I have much to thank you for!" He quickly approached Harry, taking his hand to shake it. As soon as Harry came into contact with Voldemort, his scar seemed to explode with pain. He grimaced and shook while Voldemort held in him in the personal torture, cackling with laughter. Turning away, he commented in a falsely cheery voice, "Just a taste of what's to come, I'm sure, Harry."_

_As he turned to his servant, his mood instantly changed. "Wormtail, hold out your arm," he hissed. Wormtail obeyed, holding out his severed right. "You fool!" Voldemort kicked him to the ground. "Your other arm!" The cowering rat held out his left arm, opening his mouth to protest silently. Lord Voldemort pulled back the sleeve of his shirt, and extended a long, spidery finger to touch the Dark Mark on his skin. Harry opened his eyes to watch the coming spectacle._

_The circles around the graveyard began to glow brightly. Instantly, robed, masked figures appeared in them. Harry could not believe how many Death Eaters remained loyal. Easily fifty or sixty of the circles were filled. Many, many more remained vacant._

_The Dark Lord surveyed his followers closely, his form tight with rage. "Where are the rest? Where are the rest of my faithful? Is this all that will respond to my call? Tell me."_

_A timid voice replied from the crowd, "My Lord, many of us were placed in Azkaban in your absence. Some ran, fearing vengeance."_

_Voldemort nodded slowly, only wanting to confirm his suspicions. He now asked the question that he was truly angry about. "If so many of you respond to my call, where were you these fourteen years? Why have none but the gutless Wormtail seeked me out!?" None of the Death Eaters dared give a reply. Voldemort snorted inwardly in disgust. The best of his servants were missing in action. Only the most cowardly of the cowards had appeared before him. Sycophants, the lot of them. They had nothing; not the guts to face Azkaban, the bravery to seek him out, nor the audacity to flee. _

_Voldemort chuckled slightly, easing the rising tension. He knew he'd have to work with this group until his beloved brethren, his inner circle, were before him. Meanwhile, he had a more pressing issue: Harry James Potter. He stated coldly, "I suppose all can be forgiven, can it not, my Death Eaters?" He smiled slightly. "In fact, as a reward for your timely arrivals, I have entertainment!" The Death Eaters were completely taken aback by this new attitude. None protested for fear of the Dark Lord's wrath._

_His followers followed Voldemort's finger, finally seeing the dark figure on the tombstone. Gasps ensued as they realized just exactly who was tied to the stone. "Witness, my followers, the end of this boy's pathetic resistance!" He strode to Harry, casting away the ropes. _

_He handed the boy his wand and laughed as Harry instantly cast a charm, enjoying his spirit. _

_Harry watched as Voldemort watched it fly by. He knew he was outclassed. Voldemort was simply toying with him. "Come my dear Potter. Wouldn't you like a nice, fair Wizard's Duel? Just you and I? Come, Imperio!" Harry felt the great pressure on his mind, commanding him to bow to Voldemort. Bow down to his wishes, bow down to die. But he was unable to resist Voldemort. Moody was not at Voldemort's level; neither did he have his intent. Harry was forced to bow, jerkingly, slowly, humiliatingly._

_As soon as he was released, Harry spun, ducking for cover behind the nearest gravestone. His mind racing, he realized the only way out was his way in: the Portkey, the Cup. His cover shattered suddenly, and he was impaled by several pieces of stone. "Crucio!" Harry writhed in pain, falling to his knees. It felt as if thousands of white hot knives were driving into his body. _

_Voldemort held the spell, enjoying watching the Boy-Who-Lived screaming on the ground. _

_Those five minutes had felt like an eternity to Harry. He slumped to the ground, not even attempting to waste his energy in getting up. He could hear the chorus of laughter, but his mind, for once, would not focus. Harry didn't even wince as he felt the vicious kicks aimed toward him. He had given up. He would be tortured for however long Voldemort wished. Then killed. Nobody even knew where he was. _

_Voldemort sighed exaggeratedly. He had hoped that Harry would take longer to break. "Well, well. It seems that our very own boy hero gave up. Too easy," he laughed. _

"_Avada Kedavra!" he suddenly screamed, spinning back around to cast. All the Death Eaters flinched as they heard those dreaded words leaving his lips once again. The green spell flew toward Harry. _

_Harry had no idea what occurred. Something had happened, but he was not even sure that it did. He heard the killing curse, attempted to move, and then felt his wand act of its own accord. It twisted in his hand, casting a silvery spell that connected with Voldemort's. Receiving a sudden infusion of energy, he stood warily, holding his wand tightly, and glanced at the shocked face of the Dark Lord. The colliding spells suddenly gave out in a burst of energy, causing everything within a hundred feet to go flying away from the epicenter. By sheer luck alone, Harry saw the Cup lying a measly ten feet away. He got up, felt his wand still in his hand, and felt his legs go out again just as he collapsed upon the portkey. He heard Voldemort's scream of anger and saw the familiar flash of green just as the tug of the portkey caused him to disappear._

_He opened his eyes to see the field in front of the maze. It was a place of utter chaos, as two of the champions were gone. But Harry did not look around. He did not announce his presence. He simply curled up in a tight ball, repeating two phrases: "He's back. I killed him. He's back…"_

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Harry woke up in a cold sweat, shivering. He was lying in his bed at Privet Drive. After quickly glancing at the clock, he returned to his thoughts. He had been having this recurring dream for the weeks after the Tournament. It was now the end of summer, and although he hadn't yet come to terms over what had happened, the dreams had stopped. At least, until now.

The first weeks had been difficult, to say the least. Somehow managing to finish the year in a daze, he had almost welcomed the prospect of returning to this house of horrors. He knew that many, many people didn't believe him, assuming he interpreted the whispers that followed him, not unlike his first year.

Harry chuckled inwardly as the thought that some may actually have been commenting on his bravery hit him. If only he had that type of luck. Unfortunately, his life was inundated with all this Dark Lord drama. It would probably have been better if he had just died and left the job for someone-

Harry shook himself, breaking his line of thoughts. He had promised himself not to constantly berate himself and fall into a self induced pseudo-depression. Getting up, Harry put on his glasses and sat on the edge of his bed. He could hear the waking Uncle Vernon and sounds of Aunt Petunia making some food. And Dudley, attempting to chat up some girls over some online site. They had been somewhat ambivalent this year, quite surprisingly. Perhaps it was his newfound attitude. But he wasn't complai-

"GET DOWN HERE, YOU UNGRATEFUL FREAK!" Aunt Petunia's shrill scream broke his reflective mood. That was what they resorted to: childish verbal sparring. Not really unlike Malfoy and himself the year before. Harry sighed, wishing that Malfoy could've just ignored him that year. He didn't need petty distractions, and he vowed to himself to put their differences behind him. Perhaps they could somehow reconcile and go their own ways.

Aunt Petunia's yelling interrupted his thoughts yet again. "YOU THINK YOU'RE A BLOODY PRINCE? MAKE YOUR OWN BREAKFAST, YOU MISERABLE BRAT!" Harry got up and sighed. He hated this place, barely even considering it a home anymore. He left his room, and encountered Uncle Vernon, slightly brushing against him.

Vernon bristled. "Watch your step, boy. You should be washing the carpet I stepped on, and instead you dare touch me." Harry shook his head and continued; he had stopped replying to his family's mocking weeks ago. This was nothing compared to his physical abuse in years prior. Walking into the kitchen, he turned to see Dudley wolfing down a cake, a gift for his aunt and uncle's anniversary, in the fridge. Upon seeing Harry, his piglike face turned pale, and he hastily closed the fridge and hobbled away on his large legs.

Harry grinned; he loved his newfound power over his cousin. Especially after the dementor incident, Dudley would never dare to cross him, let alone look at him. He was grateful, as he had no desire to see his cousin's face. Ever.

It was then that Harry sensed something was wrong. He couldn't say how or why, but he felt something behind him. He twisted on his heel, only to be met with - nothing. Harry shook his head warily. He had learned to trust his instincts.

He then turned to to the table to reread the headlines from the day before. _SEARING HEAT WAVE CONTINUES_. None of Voldemort's doings had been reported. Yes, a couple odd deaths, but nothing with a tangible link to "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." He snorted at that title. Wizards had a ridiculous tendency to name things obvious,,hyphenated phrases. The Boy-Who-Lived. You-Know-Who. Why not Boy-That-Kinda-Sorta-Died-One-Night-But-Really-Didn't and Really-Evil-Dude-We-Are-Scared-Shitless-Of. From a Muggle standpoint, wizards truly were quite queer.

Harry chose not to linger in his kitchen for long. He needed to _do_ something. Sitting in a house all day with abusive relatives was nothing short of boring. Nobody had deigned to contact him; he hadn't even seen anyone he knew other than Dumbledore at his trial. And Dumbledore refused to even look at him. Bitterness welled up within Harry. He had felt confused the first couple weeks. But after complete isolation, worse even than the summer before second year, the bewilderment had quickly turned sour. His thoughts turned back to Dumbledore momentarily. Although the headmaster had quickly and effectively proved him innocent, Harry couldn't feel grateful to him. He had acted aloof, and for all intents and purposes, could have just been a random lawyer. If only they'd tell him something. Harry shook his head. Not even one letter had arrived from his friends. Not even Dobby responded to his calls. It was as if he was literally cut of from the magical world. The other thing he hated was that Dumbledore was forced to take Harry's magical possessions, other than his wand and Hedwig, from the house. Apparently Minister Fudge was trying to make sure Harry would cause no further trouble. Dumbledore had written that he was powerless over that matter. It sounded like a partial lie to Harry, but he had to trust Dumbledore in his actions, for he was far more knowledgeable than Harry. At least he would be excused from his summer work. Or so he hoped.

For the third time that morning, Aunt Petunia rudely interrupted his thoughts. Whacking him with a magazine, she ordered, "Go get the mail. And the newspaper. And take out the trash. Don't forget-

"-to water the plants, wash the car, get the groceries," Harry finished, rolling his eyes. "You'd think after fifteen years-

"-that you'd be grateful. Instead your dirty little mouth still talks back to me. You'll get payback one day," Petunia threatened. She walked back to where she came from, apparently done with Harry for the day. This new minimum contact policy really appealed to Harry. If he did his chores, he'd be ignored. For the most part. If not, well, he didn't really care for that confrontation.

He slowly walked outside. The blazing heat made even a small stroll harmful. The Dursley's well loved garden was slowly turning brown, each plant shriveling and withering. It was pretty symbolic of Harry's summer, he thought wryly as he strode to pick up the newspaper. He felt no morning breeze. Everything was eerily still, and Harry got another bad feeling. Something just wasn't _right_.

The new headlines were hardly new: _HOT WAVE OF HEAT SLAMS ENGLAND_. How calamitous, Harry thought, feeling that the news really didn't report anything worth writing about. He walked back to his- or rather, the Dursley's- home. He stopped, staring at the house, memories of abuse welling up in his mind. His hatred of this house was unmatched by that of any other physical object. For the million and a halfth time in his life, he trudged slowly up to his front door. He opened the door, and turned to close it. Turning back, he thought of how hard his life -

_BANG!_ A metal pan slammed into his face. Harry felt his nose break from the first hit and tears filled his eyes as he recoiled from the first blow. It was quickly followed by two more, one on his back and another to his legs, causing him to collapse. Obviously, the Dursleys were done with him. After the first blow, his head was mostly avoided. It was as though they didn't want to kill him. But they weren't doing a very good job. He quickly curled up in the well practiced routine of his childhood, instinctively attempting to protect himself from severe injury.

Harry woozily heard the distinct snap of his own arms breaking. It was then that all the blood rushed from his head and he quickly lost consciousness.

The Dursleys continued, heedless of both their and his actions. For Dudley, this was his first time getting retribution for his four Summers of Fear, as he called them. It all started with the huge man and the tail. The horrid, disgusting tail. He was so glad when the freak left. But he had to come back every summer. He hated school, and every summer he came home, the place that was supposed to be _safe_ and _welcoming_, to the person he hated most in his life. It was endless torture, incessant fear, punctuated only with getaways with his friends. And then the freak caused the life sucking coldness. That was the most miserable moment of his decade and a half of life. He didn't deserve that life, he thought, as he pummeled away at Harry, now with bare fists.

Vernon didn't really have any reason for doing what he did. He hated the boy. That was that. The boy - no, freak - was a good-for-nothing bastard that had become a drain on his financial resources. How could he take care of his precious Dudley when that freak would reside with them over the summer. He had almost killed him. The freak deserved what he was getting. He should be thankful for what he had gotten. But instead he returned every year, presumptuous and arrogant, unwilling to follow the most basic of rules. A normal-hearted person would have thrown him in a burning pit faster than Dudley could eat a cake.

Petunia was the least conflicted about her actions. Before Harry, she had managed to erase all memories and relations to her sister and the magical world she so envied. Then perfect Lily had gotten into trouble, died, and brought Petunia's misery back. The freak represented everything bad about her life. She had been so happy for one glorious year. Just her, Vernon, and darling Dudley. Then Potter came and ruined it all. Ruined years of her life spent in recovery. Ruined a young, happy family. Ruined Dudley's childhood forever. Ruined everything.

The Dursleys stopped after a while, their limbs thoroughly exhausted by their efforts. They left Harry lying outside the front door, in the blistering heat yet hidden behind the bushes from prying eyes. Going inside, they started laughing and talking happily, glad to rid themselves of stress and long-repressed anger.

Harry groaned, regaining consciousness. His whole body ached like it hadn't in a long, long time. Attempting to move, he realized that his legs would be unable to support his weight. It was then he saw - or rather, didn't see - that he was blind. Dried blood matted his eyelids, sealing them shut. His unhinged jaw hung loosely from his skull. His left arm, his only usable limb, was stuck underneath his torso. He had to move to retrieve his wand. He rolled slightly, wincing as the renewed sensation of sharp pain temporarily replaced the dull ache.

Holding out his wand, he felt a certain heat emanating from it, and he knew the sparks were successful - the Knight Bus had been called.

Harry lay on the ground, wondering what exactly had motivated the Dursleys. He had been avoiding them pretty damn well this year, he thought. That thought, accompanied by a sharp stab of pain with his next breath, reminded him where he was. He really ought to learn more healing spells, he thought, at a loss over his next action. The Bus hadn't arrived yet, for some reason. Perhaps it was busy. In the meantime, he had to get out of the heat or risk infection. He knew he was someplace in the front yard, probably out of view. So he had to move so the driver - Stan - would be able to see him. Which reminded him that he had to make sure he wasn't recognized.

Sighing, and wincing, he lifted his arm, aimed his wand at his face, attempting to cast a Stinging Hex. He felt a slight burn as sparks flew out, but as he couldn't enunciate the spell, he didn't swell up. Something did happen. Hopefully it disguised him further. Otherwise,the bloody face would have to do. He slowly rolled over, feeling the dry grass scratch his bruises.

He then heard the distinct pop of the Knight Bus, and Stan's falsely enthusiastic voice. "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Stan Shunpike and I will be your conductor this morn - Woah. What happened to you, bud? Who are ya?"

Harry shook his head. "St. Mungo's please," he said, in a half whisper.

"Hold up a sec. What did you say your name was again? San Mundo?"

"Nev-Neville. Long-

"Oh yeah, I remember you. You were nearby oh, two years ago, right? When Black escaped?"

Harry groaned, partly in pain and partly in exasperation at Stan's apparent inability to concentrate for more than ten seconds, bringing Stan back to reality. "St. Mungo's," he repeated, louder. "Just take - already," he said through his pain.

Stan rushed to pick him, and placed him on a seat in the Bus, ignoring the many sound of pain escaping the young man. "Well here we go Nev. Gonna be a bumpy ride, but I'll get ya there right quick." Harry was only half-conscious as Stan hurriedly drove towards the famed hospital. His dazed mind only registered the large bumps, and he felt an odd feeling of detachment.

The Knight Bus arrived in front of St. Mungo's, stopping abruptly. Medi-wizards rushed out to grab Harry, casting sedating spells on him. Harry's world went dark.

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"Your name, young man," a voice was saying, quite warily, as Harry woke up. "Your name." Harry opened his eyes, and a flood of light blinded him for a couple seconds. He saw an older medi-witch staring at him, an annoyed look on her face.

Harry took in his surroundings. He was obviously in St. Mungo's. In some unknown wing. People bustled about, visiting and recovering, busy and crying faces all around. He returned his focus to the waiting witch. "Piers. Piers Polkiss." His voice sounded normal. Not totally healed, he could see patches of dry blood and small bruises pockmarking his body. Instinctively, he brought his hand up to cover his scar, only to discover it was hidden; there was hair stuck on the bloody scar. He rose up, and the witch took his name.

"Thank you. Now how…"

"Can I leave? I really need to leave," Harry asked petulantly.

"Piers. You are not doing anything till you tell me how exactly you got in this condition."

Harry swallowed nervously. This would not be easy.

"And your name. Your real name."

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**Well there we are. First chapter done. **

**There will not be any bashing in this story. Well with any luck. Ratings and Genre/s will be changed with the progression of the story. Thanks to everybody who has hung on with me so far. **

**Also, please review, as it will help me decide if I should change how I write, if I should change the characters, or even if I should continue at all. **

**Finally, I doubt my releases will be very consistent. Unless my time opens up and my muse starts rolling. **


	2. Chapter 2: Hidden Shadows

**Welcome back. Here ya go. Chapter 2. **

**Mostly an intro to a couple important characters, and a couple of not-so-important characters I threw in as well. I've always wished Rowling would have developed her off-screen characters. And honestly, her main characters as well.**

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I do not own Harry Potter. All characters and plot lines from the original story are property of JK Rowling.

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Ch 2: Hidden Shadows

"Daphne, you are such a manipulative little bastard, you know that?" Tracey laughed madly, tears in her eyes, as Daphne recounted her tale. "Astoria will be so excited when she hears."

"And then she will start bugging me all the time just so I let her in on itnext time," Daphne agreed. She had managed to send her parents on a two week vacation before school started, ensuring that she would have the house virtually to herself. "That's not even that half of it though," Daphne continued.

"What? What have you _forgotten_ to tell me now?"

Daphne blushed. "That was an accident, I've told you countless times. I actually forgot that time," she insisted.

Tracey shook her head, sighing. "So what is it?" In reply, Daphne summoned a book from across the room. Tracey raised her eyebrows expectantly, looking confused, but then it slowly dawned on her. "No way," she said, awed.

Daphne simply nodded. The reaction was worth every second of effort it had taken to pull the right strings.

"You did not," Tracey shook her head unbelievably. "I thought that…. those aren't real, are they? How did you manage to…"

Daphne laughed. "Trade secrets, my friend. Can't reveal them all," she said enigmatically, a slight smile breaking on her face.

"But…. a magic permit, your parents, Astoria…" Tracey gestured helplessly.

"Astoria doesn't know. Don't tell her, by the way. Otherwise she'll come rushing back with all her friends for the next week," Daphne almost groaned at the thought. "And that'll be hell."

Tracey's eyes glowed. "So for the next week. Just you and me. And magic!" she yelled excitedly. "You are a true Slytherin!" she exclaimed, rushing over to retrieve her wand. Grabbing it, she stood, and was about to cast a spell when she hesitated. "Um. I don't - theres nothing really to cast right now, is there?"

Daphne dropped back on her bed amidst her peals of laughter. "You live in a non-magical home, you must have loads you want to do!"

Tracey glared back at her best friend. Daphne sighed theatrically, "I don't know… go make something to eat. With only your wand or something like that." Tracey almost instantly brightened up. Without a word, she left, her red shirt streaking away.

Daphne was left in absolute silence. Tracey could be a bit excitable at times. She was incredibly loyal and smart, but her emotions often overpowered her sense. That didn't matter to Daphne though. She loved Tracey. They'd been best friends since childhood. She fondly remembered the pre-Hogwarts days. If only she'd think for herself for often.

Tracey was actually the only person she would never try to manipulate. Her thoughts moved to her chosen activities. Making Astoria leave for a week was easy. She enjoyed the power she felt at being able to pull strings and make things happen. Like a puppeteer, she thought, thinking of Muggle magic shows for children. An apt title. She got up from her sitting position on her bed, surveying her room. Soft sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the dust particles in the air. In a corner, on his perch, her owl hooted softly, drawing her attention. Like usual, he wanted to leave. Bask in the freedom that comes with flying. Daphne had always wanted to sprout wings and fly. It would be a special kind of freedom, especially with the strict rules and limitations of a "proper" pureblood house.

Her family was ultra-selective about her close friends, and as such, she preferred not to invite others over, except Tracey of course, because she didn't need her family dictating and ruining her friendships. Despite their differences, Astoria and she respected the privacy of friends; they had an unspoken agreement between them to never reveal the private acts of the other. So their parents would never know that Astoria had actually left for a week, Daphne thought, grinning smugly. She loved getting one on her parents.

A crash downstairs broke her thoughts. She shook her head, smiling. A full five minutes, she mused. Better than expected. She walked slowly to the door, looking behind at her owl finally leaving the newly opened window. Daphne ambled down, and stopped in shock at the scene. Tracey had managed to make a perfectly nice-looking breakfast. Albeit with a broken plate as she had obviously been so joyous at making food that she didn't control its levitation fully.

Looking at Tracey's smug face, she burst out laughing. "You do all that, and at the end you drop it all?!"

"Silencio," Tracey replied. "Yes I did, thank you. And I found another use for magic," she finished smugly. Daphne mimed a "haha, very funny" gesture at her friend.

After a couple minutes of utter silence in which Tracey took a bite, Daphne stared balefully at her, getting annoyed, gesturing with her hands to make Tracey lift the spell. She was categorically ignored, with Tracey quite enjoying Daphne's struggle under a completely straight face. Then she left.

After a quick moment of disbelief, Daphne followed, vowing revenge.

* * *

Quidditch was the best sport ever. So thought Cormac McLaggen as flew in loops on his broom, weaving in and out of the hoops, throwing around Quaffles, pretending there were many girls below to whom he was showing off his physique. He had to practice this summer in order to make the team this year. The other years he been caught up in other, less-important stuff. And then there had been the annoying tournament. But not this year. This year, he would tryout and make the team, no questions asked. He was so caught up in his fantasy that he failed to hear his mother scream at him to come down. Instead, his mother charmed his broom to jerk sharply, breaking his daydreams.

"Mother! What?" He landed on the ground and assumed what he thought was a heroic pose.

His mother narrowed her eyes at the tone and replied scathingly, "You good-for-nothing useless boy! Help me! Stop spending all day with your brooms and your magazines. Merlin knows what the world will make of a grown up child."

McLaggen curled his lip. "No." He smirked. "Go away." He proceeded to walk away, leaving his mother standing furiously, unable to make her lazy son to work. Meanwhile, McLaggen hummed away, returning to another of his many fantasies.

* * *

Hermione Granger stared longingly at the photo of her friends taken the last summer, before the Death Eater attacks at the World Cup. They were so happy, each smiling and laughing, unable to maintain a calm enough expression for a Muggle photograph. Those times were great, she remembered nostalgically. Now... now was horrid. Harry had been taken by the newly returned Voldemort and subsequently tortured, Ron was acting aloof, once again, not inviting her to the Burrow until Harry arrived, which was still an unconfirmed event, seeing how Dumbledore had forbidden contact. She herself was gone, on vacation to the Continent - Greece and Italy. Her family had the tradition of vacations every summer, but now she felt they had become intrusive and quite frankly unimportant.

Not that she didn't appreciate learning about the wizarding culture of ancient Greece and Italy. And modern Italy. It was truly fascinating. There were the great schools of learning that has existed since the Greco-Roman times, such as the Sculoa Liceo, where greats such as Aristotle and Plato had once taught. Although they denied her entry even onto their premises, the mere opportunity to visit these founding centers of magical education - indeed, perhaps magic itself - was a great opportunity. She had learned of their selection process - a rigorous practical that many at Hogwarts would fail. It was truly the premier school for underage magicals to learn. And its apprenticeships and other trainings post-graduation were to die for. It was even its own entity, an almost sovereign, autonomous region completely separate from the jurisdiction of the Greco-Italian Ministry. But its price and selective nature meant that very few were able to apply, and less able to enter.

Comparably, the Muggle history of the area seemed drab. A bunch of artists, philosophers and gladiator arenas? It was almost not worth her time. Which seemed to signify a worrying shift in her mentality that she had been noticing for quite some time. It was becoming clear to her that spending time - in fact, even enjoying - both realms, magical and mundane, was impossible. She, like many Muggleborns before her, was being forced to either leave the magical world or the Muggle world behind. And it was not a choice - the attractiveness of the magical world could not leave the mind, making everything in its counterpart seem boring, predictable, and downright primitive, despite the obvious societal downfalls of the wizarding world.

* * *

The famed Albus Dumbledore paced his office, his aged face etched with concern. Orbs glowed and pulsed all around him, bringing back no relevant information about the whereabouts of one Mr. Harry Potter. Managing to hide Harry Potter's disappearance from the public, and more importantly, the Order itself, had been challenging to say the least. But it was nothing compared to finding the boy himself. Where could he have gone? Harry was not so foolish as to have run away without cause. Going to the Dursleys' was fruitless; Truth did not venture there. So that left two options. He left for an important, but yet unknown, reason without contact -whether for urgency or secrecy was unknown- or he was kidnapped. The latter was so unlikely as to be impossible, but since Harry's monitors were not due to start for another week, it could not be struck off as an impossibility.

So where would he go, he wondered. Surely the Weasley's. They were almost his own kin, he thought, fondly remembering the bond between the family and Harry. But no. The Granger's was another possibility. But there was nothing to suggest that Harry had any idea where it was located. Nevertheless, he had checked. Again, quite pointless. It was quite unnerving how Harry always ended up in such perilous situations.

Magic was a fickle beast. It could do the most extraordinary things. But ask it to do some others and it simply failed. Unless Harry used a spell, finding him was no simple task. And knowing Harry, he could be quite resourceful in staying hidden. If he wanted to hide, it would be quite a task to find him. Though it should not be, by any means, beyond his capabilities to locate Harry. He may have to report to the Order, he thought, disappointed. It would only result in chaos, and risk a leak to Lord Voldemort. But what had to be done must be done for the Greater Good. Finding Harry was just as important as risking the fall of the Order itself. He was the keystone of the whole operation, though Harry himself did not know, he reminded himself. He had to rectify that. Harry had to know of the prophecy before he released he released its contents. Harry had to be ready to be the Chosen One.

Albus frowned, not liking the unpleasant memories of failure and disappointment that thought brought up. All would be right, in the end. All was for the Greater Good. That is, if he could find Harry. Which brought him back to square one. He had spent days on this case, attacking the problem from so many angles. Yet no solution was to be found.

He opened a letter sitting on his desk. He had his mail enchanted to appear on his desk. Just another letter. Another threat of dismissal from the blind leaders of the Wizarding World. They were calling him senile. But he was not. He pitied them. The government was simply scared and unable to accept facts. If the Dark Lord was truly back, then the nation would be lost. They would go back fifteen years, into the middle of a war. A war of fear, a war of terror. A war that was lost. Only this time, there was no savior. There was no third chance. If the second chance - the upcoming war - failed, all hope was lost. They feared losing everything, so they held on to everything they had ever so tightly. When they lost it this time, there would be no recovery. No return to status quo. The entire system would have to change. Dumbledore understood their fears, but knew that they had to live in the real world, not a tranquil utopia.

Albus Dumbledore, conqueror of a Dark Lord, leader of a nation of magicals, shook his head. It was no longer the time to think, to complain, to theorize; it was now, rather, the time to act. He glanced at Fawkes and nodded slightly. The Order of the Phoenix was being called.

* * *

"You are the master of manipulation, My Lord," proclaimed Bellatrix Lestrange as Lord Voldemort watched with amused eyes. He had recently jumpstarted the Ministry's infiltration operation. "All will cower before you."

The red eyes followed her. Behind the veil of amusement lay a deep annoyance. This … _woman_ … had an unhealthy sexual obsession with him. In all truthfulness, it disturbed him. Not so much before she had been psychotic. She had been somewhat enticing, even. But now, now it was just another burden. One that he could deal with.

"Bring the boy before me."

A new voice responded. Lucius Malfoy. "He is on his way, My Lord," his voice quavering. Lord Voldemort chuckled inwardly. Lucius was a coward. A rich coward, but a coward nevertheless. He had his benefits, and they were being exhausted rapidly. But his son, Draco. There was a boy who might one day stand before his lord a man. This first meeting would be a test, of sorts. The first of many. He hoped that, unlike many previous, Draco would not fail.

The sharp rapping of a trained pureblood knock rang through the room. The high doors opened to reveal a figure who quickly emerged from the shadows. He was moderately tall and well-built. His hair flowed down, almost reaching his shoulders. His square jaw tightened anxiously upon entering the presence of his lord. Gray-blue eyes took in the surroundings carefully.

"Come, Draco. No need to linger at the doorstep. Bellatrix, Lucius. You may leave." The dismissal was clear in his voice. And suddenly the straight backed boy seemed not so straight, his proud blue eyes not so haughty, and his strong frame not so unafraid.

The Dark Lord stood abruptly. He paced, as if deep in thought. Draco, meanwhile, stood, silent and fearful, waiting for something. Anything. The silence only continued. Voldemort was not in thought, though. He was simply testing the boy. And he did fail. Quite miserably.

"My Lord?" came the reluctant question.

"Silence, boy," Voldemort replied scathingly. "I have a job for you. You will do it well, or you will never do anything again. You will be informed upon your return home." The boy was staring, his mouth slightly open, not moving despite the dismissal. "Leave!"

The plan was unfolding quickly, efficiently. If the boy managed to do his part, all the better. But it was not necessary. One part alone was so, and he would be taking that part for himself.

The next part required a child. A young child, but not so young as to be unable to comprehend what was happening. Katerina Zabini. A student of the Sculoa Liceo in Italy. She would be the panacea to his troubles. He had taken her, quite forcefully, from the hands of her wailing mother, a supposed servant. No longer. Katerina and her brother- Blaise -were now motherless.

And so he summoned her now, for the first of the dark rituals he had planned.

* * *

Fred Weasley glared incessantly at his young cousin, Gary. So too did his twin, George. Gary Weasley was not the archetypal Weasley clan member. Other than his flaming red hair, nothing signified their relationship. Gary was more akin to Fred and George. A prankster in the making.

It had been just that morning that the twins had woken up in bed, glued together back to back, stark naked. Their extrication was painful and quite embarrassing, to say the least. Which was why the Weasley twins were glaring at Gary. He was not their type of prankster; he was too cruel and preferred overdone actions to subtler ones. Not that the twins, Fred and George, were subtle. But they could be and to them, that made all the difference.

One such time was now, in fact. Behind the angry visages, both twins were coming up with ingenious pranks to get the youngster. But since he was younger, it could be too obvious. Thus their newfound subtlety.

Gary, meanwhile, was sitting in the garden, oblivious to the twins' glares. He was playing with a snail, using a bright yellow sponge to get it out of its shell so it was left vulnerable and more fun to poke.

"You're setting up, right?" asked George discreetly.

Fred grinned. "Dear brother, this will be unforgettable." He gestured to Gary. "Make sure he doesn't come inside."

George nodded and moved closer to the window, watching Gary while pretending to eat. He could see the snail had been successfully removed from its shell, and Gary was now searching for a sharp stick. A couple of ugly garden gnomes, meanwhile, watched the boy in his actions from their burrowing holes. Hopefully the gnomes would bite the bloody boy, he thought.

At the same time, Fred had left to retrieve supplies they had hidden in Diagon Alley. Keeping the best ones at home, in the Burrow, was too risky, lest their mother find them. Unless Harry was visiting, in which case, Harry became the unknowing safeguard of their toys, since Mrs. Weasley did not go through Harry's belongings like she did her children's. Their mother was quite insistent that they be proper pureblood gentleman, like Percy, and not shoddy, dimwit pranksters.

"Florean!" he yelled as he approached the ice-cream seller. "You still have it, right?"

Florean Fortescue nodded, replying, "Which poor bastard is getting this one?" He had often hid many of the Weasley twins' items for no cost. The entertainment value was pay enough, especially the one time he had simultaneously helped each twin in a prank war against the other. He appreciated their humor, as a young businessman.

"Can't say until the deal is done. You know how we roll," Fred winked as he was given the items and walked on. Carefully, he placed them under his robe, not wanting to disturb the volatile materials. It was good that Florean never attempted to figure out what exactly he had hidden.

Fred continued on to Scribbulus Writing Instruments. Upon entering, he pivoted, reached under a table containing many fancy quills and got a long, thin stick that looked like a wand. Nodding to the employee, who smiled and shook his head, he left as quickly as he had entered.

That had been the dangerous shop. The senile old owner was a very bipolar man: one minute he would humor the twins, the next he would try to have them put in jail. One could never tell what he was thinking, so not encountering him in his shop was a good omen. He needed a new home for this handy device, but not all businesses wanted to have any sort of affiliation with the Weasleys.

Having retrieved the two important items he needed, he returned via Floo to the Burrow. He marched straight up to Ginny's room, and without so much as knocking, entered.

"Fred! Merlin, learn to knock!" Ginny exclaimed. "What do you want now?"

"Can I not just want to talk to my little sister? It's been forever since we had a one-on-one face-to-face discussion." Thinking on his words, he amended, "In fact, we probably haven't ever. It was probably a two-on-one face-to-face-to-face discussion."

Ginny frowned. "Yeah… no. I'm not buying any of that. You two always want something from me."

"Not always-

"Oh yeah?"

"Fine," Fred conceded. "Maybe. But this time its against Gary."

At those words, Ginny brightened up, quite noticeably. Nobody liked the little menace. In fact, everybody, with the exception of his parents, loathed him to one level or another. "What can I do?" she asked, eager to be a part of this prank.

Fred grinned in his success. "Do you have that one perfume we gave you?"

Ginny looked at him strangely. "Of course I do." She became confused as Fred's smile disappeared.

"You haven't used it. Right?" Fred asked, worried.

"Hah. No. I would never trust anything you gave me. Who do you think I am? Ron?" she laughed.

Fred sighed in relief. "Good. Give it to me, wait five minutes, then bring Gary inside. Then step away from him, quickly. Very quickly. And let the magic happen."

He left Ginny in silence, tinkering with the perfume in the shadows. He heard her leave a few minutes later and stepped back, looking proudly at their work. George had been busy while he was gone, he thought.

He walked out just in time to see the little rascal enter the house. The prank was a go.

* * *

Harry glanced around furtively. He was in the clear, for now. Getting up slowly, he examined himself in a mirror. His face was still bruised, and his body still bloody and messy, but the internal injuries had been healed. Apparently something more important happened before they finished with him. Which was advantageous, as his identity had not been discovered.

He sneaked quietly around, removing his wand from his back pocket. He needed a fireplace. But in St. Mungo's? Not even an idiot would put Floo-connected fireplaces in a hospital with insane people. And wizards, he had discovered, did have severe oversights in their logic.

"Young man…" an old voice wheezed, chuckling slightly. "If you plan on escaping, clean yourself up first." Harry blushed inwardly. He should have cleaned the blood off himself right away. "Tergeo," he incanted softly, nodding his thanks to the man who lay in the shadows.

It turned out his exit was not quite so difficult. Given the nurses had thought it unnecessary to change him, the simple cleanup had him looking like a visitor, albeit a very famous, very young, very late-night visitor. But, it was still an easier escape than imagined. Nobody had even given him a second glance, as they were probably too embarrassed to approach him after seeing the fake, yet realistic, tears rolling down his face.

Once outside, Harry paused a moment, breathing in deeply. The sweet smell of freedom. For the first time in a very long time, he felt unattached to the surrounding world. Well, other than the Voldemort problem. And the moment, in its most pure, joyful form, ended. But it was not over.

It was time to take advantage of his time. First he needed a place to stay the night. Not Diagon Alley. It was too obvious. Unfortunately, it was the only place he knew. So onto the other Alleys. Knockturn was a definite pass. His one time there still, quite irrationally, haunted him. Most of the others - such as Axle, Gargoyle, and Kripple Alleys- were dedicated to a business. Axle was a fashion district, Gargoyle a home furnishing, and so on.

Leaving one thing. Wander. Endlessly. And so he did.

It may have been a year, or perhaps a week, a day, an hour, or even a minute later that he found himself standing in front of a building with a tattered sign: _The Enlightened Shadows_. It was an almost unnatural force - an inexplicable attraction - that led him in.

It was hazy inside, a slight but undeniable mist permeating the air. And that set the alarm bells ringing in Harry's mind. There was something that seemed inherently _wrong_ about this place. Silently, slowly, he removed his wand. He raised it -

"Oh no, my dear. Quite unnecessary. None shall harm you here," came the soft yet wizened voice from the shadows. A figure emerged: a grey haired woman with shadowy eyes. So black were their hue, in fact, that not a hint of white could be seen even in the deepest corners of them.

Harry backed away quickly, raising his wand and holding it steadily at the woman. "Who are you?" he inquired shakily.

The woman opened her mouth to reply - a toothless mouth, "I am the future. And I offer yours to you, as I have to many others for many a year."

Harry stopped suddenly, thinking. His whole life he had spent sheltered, hidden. It was tempting, to say the least, to know what could be next. Especially since, as he believed, the future was not set in stone. Even if he was given a riddle, a prophecy, it would be better than to walk through the darkness completely blind.

And yet… was the future a thing that should be known? It may be better to leave the seemingly dark and dangerous methods untouched.

But no… it was his right. He should take control of his own life. Not give it away. Even if she was a fraud, it could not hurt. Harry smiled at her. "I shall take your offer."

The women stared at him, an inscrutable look on her aged face. "Then I must give you a warning. I will respect your wishes. But, my visions come at a price. A very great power is mine. What are you willing to pay?"

Harry frowned. He had yet to think of payment. "What does it cost?"

The wizened witch cackled toothlessly. "Not a practiced negotiator, I see. The price is not gold, power, fame, or any other worldy goods. No, the price is your future." At this Harry backed away. "You see, everything I predict… It occurs. Fate becomes unchangeable upon my divining of it. You see, the future is like a web, full of possibilities. If I tell you your future, all paths other than the one I tell you are ripped away, forever lost. It is as a light in a dark room. Once opened, there is only one possibility. So if it is good, than none can do anything to make it bad. But if it is bad, none, not even you, can make it better. My prediction will become your fate. That is the price."

* * *

**Not a cliffhanger, really, as I don't plan on returning to the scene. But I guess it actually is. Y'all will just have to guess as to what Harry decided.**

**A little shorter chapter than I expected. Actually a lot shorter. But some of the scenes came to nice ending points quite unexpectedly, so I took them. How the Voldemort part ended shorter than the twins' is still beyond me. I had also planned to introduce another character, but it didn't seem to fit with this chapter. **

**Also, should I keep titling my chapters? I'm not sure if its a waste of my time. **


	3. Chapter 3: So the Road Begins

**Welcome back, Ch 3 for your enjoyment.**

* * *

I do not own Harry Potter. All characters and plot lines from the original story are property of JK Rowling.

* * *

Ch 3: So the Road Begins

The famed Order of the Phoenix was adjourned. And it was a scene of utter chaos. Yelling and shouting punctuated the many conversations. Not a single person was sitting quietly. It was a far cry from the organized efficacy of the previous war. But it was not undeserved. As far as the members knew, their one hope had just vanished, as if the shadows themselves had taken him away.

It was to this pandemonium that the Supreme Mugwump entered. Dumbledore took in the mayhem, which he had expected, and took quick action. Using a sonorus charm, he spoke calmly, "Quiet, everyone." The silence was not long in coming, but it left a void in which the sentiments of deep fear and anxiety were almost tangible.

Dumbledore scanned the room quickly. In one corner stood Sirius Black. He was weary eyed and sleep deprived, a worried look that was constant and inexorable. He had been this way since the news had been broken. Well, actually after he realized his absolute uselessness in the matter. Upon that epiphany, he had retreated within himself, a moody, gloomy shade of his normally effervescent, vibrant spirit. Still, his charcoal eyes met Dumbledore's with speckles of determination and resolve hidden beneath the worried façade. If those eyes still held life, he knew, hope was not lost.

Standing next to Sirius, Remus Lupin was a world away from the events. He was sneaking glances, not so furtively, at Tonks who, despite her Auror training, had yet to spot him. Like Sirius, he was so unlike his normal self, instead seeming to turn back the years, giving in to adolescent cravings. His usually unkempt hair had been washed and straightened, or at least tried to be combed. The disheveled, holey clothes had been replaced in favor of a clean, new shirt and pants that transformed Lupin into a man Dumbledore had trouble recognizing. Clearly, he was not all too worried about the situation. On the outside.

And the majority faction, the Weasley Clan, was scattered. Mrs. Weasley had the most frightened look on her face, a picture so exaggerated as to be simultaneously hilarious and depressing. She seemed incredibly close to hyperventilating, and had been ever since the news had been broken to her. She had a tendency to create irrevocable emotional bonds, and it seemed that this tendency had led to a propensity to overreact severely. Her husband, meanwhile, was an ocean of calm. He had taken the news hard, as seen by the initial look on his face, but he was now seemingly unconcerned. Below the tranquil surface however, Dumbledore could detect whirlpools of worry and currents of fast flowing thought.

The twins were not overtly worried, rather they seemed absolutely sure that Harry was fine. Categorically so, in fact. Somehow, they had managed to carve out a stupendous amount of respect for Harry's survival instinct and ability. This unconditional faith, however naïve and fanciful it may be, was exactly what Dumbledore needed from the Order. Faith, belief, would bring them to their goals and help them achieve it. The belief that they would find Harry made the finding of Harry all the more likely. The worry and blatant anxiety, however, would only cause indiscriminate tension and reduce any likelihood of success, in any endeavour.

But back to the task at hand. The Order's staring faces met his, and he met each one, making sure his expression showed only unwavering confidence and firm belief, belying none of his internal worry. "Tonks. Kingsley." The two Aurors looked at him sharply. "Could you two open your ears to any and all channels? Any news of Harry, no matter how loose, must be investigated. And Tonks, also, do some scouting around the Alleys."

Kingsley spoke up, his deep, soft voice ponderous. "And of the Minister? The Muggle Minister? I feel that I could, and should, take a temporary leave, as Potter is of the utmost importance. But that would leave the Minister highly susceptible to… foreign influence."

Dumbledore considered his words for a couple of long seconds. "No. The plan must go on, intact. Harry may be the most important piece of the puzzle, but if anything else falls, so does the plan, I'm afraid. So no. Stay with the Muggle Prime Minister. I am sure Tonks is more than capable as disguising herself and spying," he finished with a slight smile on his face. Tonks, meanwhile had turned a light shade of pink. Dumbledore's praise was something to blush about, after all.

It was delicate, indeed. Worryingly so, in fact. Dumbledore knew that was the worst type of plan. But none had ever attempted a task so difficult in its execution, so great in its opposition. Even the prophecy was a dim hope, for the power of prophecy, he knew, was fallible. Better his constituents did not know, though. Any hope, no matter how fragile, was better than none. For hope was the downfall of kings, the inexorable force of the oppressed.

Right now, at least until Harry disappeared, the Order held the upper hand. Voldemort had just returned, and would certainly wait until he knew and recovered the full extent of his abilities. Until he started acting, on a more massive scale, the impetus was on the Order to prevent the rise of Voldemort. But to do that effectively required the full renovation of the Ministry, a agency wholeheartedly supporting corruption without abandon. The system was at fault, more so than the players. But as long as the system was held so ruthlessly by bigoted purebloods, it would not change. But still, it was in the next months, provided the rescue of Potter, that would see the zenith of the power and influence of the Order.

"Everyone else," Dumbledore continued slowly, enunciating each syllable as it rolled of his tongue. "I need you to stay alert. But do not act out of the ordinary, or at least overtly so. While finding Harry is of paramount importance, we must also keep in mind that Voldemort cannot know of our current predicament. Therefore, keep your heads low and your ears up. Hear but do not be heard. See but do not be seen." Dumbledore turned quickly and walked out, his robes billowing with the speed of his exit.

Fred glanced at George, both guffawing internally. Dumbledore seemed to be getting more and more melodramatic with every passing meeting since the news of Harry's disappearance. Perhaps it was his way of venting stress, but the twins only found it a hilarious side-effect of what they considered a completely unneeded drama. Harry was fine, they knew. And if he wasn't, he would be. The kid had a knack for living, one that -

"Hey! You two! It's not funny!" Ron marched up to them, his face a deep red, his fists curled. "What the hell is wrong with you? Harry is _gone_! Go do something or at least stop laughing or something!" His frustration showed clearly, both in his outward appearance and his complete and utter lack of clarity of thought.

The twins smirked slightly at his reply. And that was all Ron needed to set him off. He pulled back his fist and released it, expecting to hit Fred's face. But the more devious brothers, expecting the blow, leaned ever so slightly away. When Ron stumbled forward, each twin stepped lightly behind him, watching gleefully as he lost balance and face planted. But in their glee, they failed to see. For the next moment, the one and only Moody held them both by the back of their necks, and dragged them like two pups away from the scene.

"You twins disgust me," he snarled at them. "A friend of your has disappeared and all you can do is smirk and laugh about it?" As the twins began a protest, he returned, "I know you believe he's fine. That's bloody obvious. But still no guarantee that he is. Put your efforts into something useful, such as finding him, rather than breaking the civility of the Order." He turned and marched away, leaving the twins harried and somewhat bemused.

Lupin and Sirius watched the twins get dragged away, both finding it funny and worrying at the same time. Ron's meltdown, however seemingly trivial or normal for Ron, was a sign of growing tensions.

"There's too many people in this house," claimed Sirius. "I don't think we can sustain this semblance of normality with so many different people, all of them stressed, some to a breaking point," he elaborated.

Lupin returned a half-smile. "Never thought I'd see the day when you thought this house was too full." He continued, "But you have a point. I honestly never thought that Harry meant so much to all of them," he stopped for a second, realizing what he had sounded like. "I mean, yes I know he meant a lot to all of us, but I didn't think that all of us had such a connection to him. He's…-

"our glue?" Sirius finished. "No, I disagree. He's hasn't been allowed to get involved enough. If he is truly our lynchpin, then he needs to be more involved. But as it is, I think they're more worried about the implication of a possible capture. If you know the politics behind the rise of Lord Angartus Black, about two centuries ago, his -

Lupin sighed dramatically. "I'm not sure how comparable the Black history, however interesting it may, is to the situation regarding the newly anointed Chosen One."

"Although the situation still draws many parallels," interjected Sirius.

"When did you learn about Black history?"

"While a may seem a crackhead to you, Remus, I know about my history. Even during school, I was learning Black secrets. Because however hated I was by family, I was still a Black. And being a Black apparently means a lot. Both about politics and dark magics," Sirius looked Lupin straight in the eye. "Something tells me that if we survive this coming war, and even in the war, I'll need that."

Lupin looked at his longtime friend with a little bewilderment. He thought he knew Sirius well. But if what he said was true, he had hidden the Black part of himself well for years. But he didn't really blame him either, for he could hear the distate dripping from his lips even as Sirius said his last words. For Sirius, the Blacks represented everything he hated. "Something tells me we will," he agreed solemnly.

* * *

The sun rose, a bloody sun. And as it broke the black of night, a pair of eyes opened. The body they belonged to jerked, then scrambled up, unable to see clearly.

"Dammit!" Harry groaned. Where were his glasses? He looked away from the cruelly lit sun, down to the the tiles below him. There. He picked them up, cursed to himself, and groaned, stretching his many aching muscles. Never again. Never again would he sleep on bloody tiles, in an oddly cool summer night. No, no no. He may be young, but he was not quite impervious to pain. No, this would be fitting punishment for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Well, maybe a few months of it.

Getting up there had been quite clever, he thought. A piece of cement, a levitating spell, and a nice bed twenty feet up. Well. Almost. One fall, luckily less than halfway up. He _was_ tired. And he had expected less success than that.

Leaving the same way he went up, he was glad Vindel Alley was empty, cloaked in mist. He needed to get to somewhere safe, but where to go? That was the question. And also, he did want to take advantage of this time he had without supervision. It was oddly freeing, following the isolation of weeks past.

Suddenly, he was angry. Restricted for so long, without any logical, rational reason. But who was he angry at? Dumbledore? The Weasleys? Voldemort? No, it was none of them and all of them. Well, not so much Voldemort. He was definitely angry at Voldemort.

But the real issue remained. Where in the name of Merlin was he? Yeah, Vindel Alley, he knew that much. But where was that? Freedom in an unknown place was not worth it. Rationality took over, and he shook of his anger temporarily. So he chose left, and started walking.

Around him, the world was waking up. Lights flickered on all around him, birds started their incessant chirping, conversations began flowing. And in the midst of it all stood the figure of Harry Potter, alone in the increasingly lively alley.

"Wandering out, are we? Want a drink?" cackled a hobbling witch in the corner. Harry gave her a disgusted glance, and walked past without hesitation.

Finally he reached an okay - well, kinda okay - place. The Dual Diner. He entered, ducking below the low overhang. He looked for the bartender, spotted him, and headed quickly towards him.

"Hello, I'm running a bit late." He said, tried his best to seem authoritative and pleasant simultaneously. "Mind if I use your fireplace?"

The mustached man looked at him suspiciously, saying nothing, staring into his eyes as if to find the very essence of his soul, and then curled his nose arrogantly, his lips coming up to form a smirking half-smile, his eyes angling and eyes narrowing; at the same time, he pulled back his shoulders, straightened his back, and towered over the questioning figure before him, until finally, satisfied, he gave a curt nod and gestured toward a fine powder in a jar above the cabinets beside him. Without pause, he walked away, leaving Harry to quickly grab the powder and pursue him through the packed floor. The mustached man nodded toward the fireplace and left, not a single word leaving his hidden lips.

Harry frowned. Then stepped into the fireplace, dropped some powder, and said, "Weasley Residence."

* * *

"Invenire Animam!" Clouds of smoke billowed menacingly around the tall robed creature. "Comminuet Eam! Liberare sigillum!"

It was a roar and a whisper, an ebb and flow. The darkness without became the lightness within, until the room was lit to the brim, an explosion seemingly imminent. Then it held, for a master was at work, one who delved deep into the abyss and emerged from it. Shadows played in the light, a demonic wizard throwing spells at a helpless, cowering figure. A wolf emerged from nothingness, it was everything and nothing, and it hunted the shadows of the light. A faint ringing, increasing in pitch and volume, slowly, steadily, overtaking the brilliance of the light in magnitude and power, and still the master worked, for the work was unfinished.

"Profanum sanctitatis!" Everything froze in the moment. It was held still, as if by a tight string. And then it ended. The shadow of the wolf faded away. The demonic wizard was no more. The ringing cut off instantly, and the light once again became dark, as the lightness without became the darkness within.

Lord Voldemort sat in the center of a black circle, pondering. Soul magic was supremely difficult to control, and this incantation was anything but the simplest of it. The original plan must be altered: this was a great, yet very risky, opportunity. But his Horcrux would be destroyed, so best use it while still possible. The game had not been so easy yet, so he would rig the game in his favor while he still could.

He stood and glanced around himself. Catching a reflection of himself, he grimaced at his face. Dark magic had a price, soul magic a greater one. But immortality was worth any price. He called out, "Bring the girl!"

"At once my Lord!" came the quick reply from the other side of the door. There was always one within shouting range to do his bidding. It could be no other way. They owed everything to him - power, money, lives. He had created them, and now he held them in his hands, controlled tightly, pawns in his game of chess.

He hummed to himself. This discovery may have made it easier for the grand plan, or harder. However, Voldemort was happy he had found out. Certainly, it better allowed him to see what had happened that night so long ago. The night that had begun the journey, the night that had changed his perception of magic forever.

The door opened, and Gibbon walked in, tightly holding the arm of a young woman. Upon seeing Voldemort, he bowed, forcing the girl to do so as well.

"Stand, both of you," commanded Voldemort. "And let her go, Gibbon." The man hastily removed himself from her. She shook herself off, and cooly met the eyes of Lord Voldemort. For a moment, they held gazes, until she dropped hers. Satisfied, Lord Voldemort dismissed Gibbons with a nonchalant wave of his hand. Gibbons bowed, and walked quickly backwards, closing the door as he exited.

Voldemort began walking, circling, examining the girl carefully. The effects of his magic had worn off, that was good. Dark magic often had lingering effects, traces. But he, who was deeper into it than any alive, erased his traces. She would do. He stopped directly in front of her.

"Katerina," he spoke softly. "Look up. I have a task for you." He appeared at ease and distracted, but he watched her with care, noting every expression and move she made. The guard was never put down.

"Yes, my Lord?" she replied questioningly, her head lifting and keeping still while her eyes wandered and took everything in. She was of middling height, slim, wearing a black dress. Her body was tight, tense but her face seemed calmed and controlled. After searching the room, her eyes rested on Voldemort. They were slightly purple, an irrevocable result of his magic, but they were calm and even.

He started slowly, lazily, in a voice barely above a whisper. He turned around, caressing each word as it exited his mouth, "You will enter Hogwarts this year. As a fifth year, despite your age. That can be hidden." He paused, turned around, and sat on a high chair. His head leaned slightly to his right as he continued, "There, you will be sorted into Gryffindor, home of the lions and brave fools." He smirked and glanced at her confused expression. "You will become friends with Harry Potter. His trio will add a fourth member. A quartet. The Golden Quartet. Loses its ring, doesn't it. Do what you must to gain his favor, you know well how to play people." She bowed her head slightly, acknowledging his words as true. "After you gain his trust, you will relay every bit of information you know about those three, from their bedtimes to their habits to the very clothes they wear."

She took a breath in, and backed a step, assuming dismissal from his silence. "Stop!" he glared down at her. "You will be of a downtrodden past life, something that will easily appeal to Potter. The rest of the details will be ironed out. Now go. I will speak to you later."

She left him pondering. His plan would work, it must.

* * *

Harry stepped out of the fireplace, preparing for a mass of worry and hugs and Weasley-ness. But entered an empty house. Everyone was gone, and even the fabulous clock was removed. Had the Death Eaters gotten the Weasleys? They would never have taken the clock on vacation. They would have told him of a vacation - well probably.

It wasn't Death Eaters, that much was clear from what little he saw of the house. Everything was neatly arranged and clean. So a vacation it must be. Why wouldn't they tell him, though?

He walked through the kitchen, family room, dining room. No sign of anything. He went up, peeking into every bedroom as he climbed, and finally entered his designated room. There were scattered boxes and items. He picked up a small colored box, and immediately dodged a ball that popped out. So this was the twins' storage house while he wasn't there, he mused.

He returned downstairs and sat on a couch. It was all very strange. An empty house - no one had been in there for weeks he presumed, based on the dust. So probably not a vacation, since the Weasleys could hardly afford going somewhere for weeks. Not Death Eaters, as he had observed before.

What to do, what to do? His frustration was rising. He looked for food. Empty, empty, empty, empty. Merlin, they had left. Could they have moved out? Well that was a possibility - no. He had said "Weasley Residence," and this was the home of the Weasleys. Just not where they were right now.

He got up. And instantly collapsed, clutching his head as waves of searing pain hit him. There was a sharp needling pain in the back of his head, increasing in intensity with every passing second, while a pounding, ebbing ache rocked his scar. His vision turned red, his eyes glazed over, and the beautiful, red world around him faded slowly, lightened, and turned to black all too quickly.

* * *

Panic. Sheer, utter chaos. Someone had just entered the Weasley house. And when Mr. Weasley announced to the Order, pandemonium ensued. Who? What? When? How? Why? What happened to the guard outside? Why would the Death Eaters go for them now? Was it a friend? A foe? Was it you, Fred and George? How dare you - Was it Harry?

"Could it be that Harry went there?" asked Sirius. He doesn't know about the headquarters here," he explained with a very pointed glance at the worried Mrs. Weasley.

Silence. Everyone considered the possibility. "No one do anything," Moody directed. "We cannot be certain who it is, or its intentions. Even if it looks like Harry, moves like Harry, talks like Harry, it could be Voldemort or his pets. We must plan this clearly and quickly."

"Can we get Dumbledore?" piped up Tonks. "If it is Voldemort, we need him."

"It bloody well won't be Voldemort," Moody replied. "No way he would do such a thing. And no, getting Albus would take too long. Arthur, Remus, come with me. We'll use the Floo to get straight in. Dora, Kingsley, Mundungus, apparate, surround the house, watch what escapes, be out backup." They all nodded.

Sirius frowned. Again, he was stuck. "Let's go." said Moody, and they entered the fireplaces, and disappeared the sound of three loud pops.

Moody arrived first, followed quickly by Remus and Arthur. And then - "Remus, get everyone outside. Arthur, get Snape." Harry was lying on the floor, unconscious, and the two men stared before moving, while Moody approached the boy, lifting him onto the couch.

Nothing. Black. Darkness. Then, suddenly, was something. A flicker, a spark, and the darkness retreated hastily. And the light grew, and it was not a soft light. It was pure light, unadulterated, and it was harsh, it was blinding in its glory. Suddenly, a flick, and all was black, then it was red, then the voices came, slowly, growing in their loudness. And the smells, the scent of strawberry, of pine, of food wafting through the air. Harry opened his eyes once again, wincing at the light above his head.

"Harry! Merlin! He's awake, get Sirius!" a high voice shrieked excitedly, causing him to groan in pain. He saw a figure rush out hurriedly, her red hair streaking behind her. He turned, and his field of vision was covered by his friend, Hermione Granger. Her face was worried and excited, happy and anxious.

"Hey," she said softly. "How are you doing?" She peered at him with concerned eyes.

Harry lifted himself up, enjoying the feeling of a plush bed beneath him. "Fine, I'm fine," he replied, casting his gaze around the bare room. It was startlingly white, with every light reflecting dimly off its surface. "Where am I?" he asked, puzzled. He had never been here before.

Before she had a chance to answer, the the door slammed open, two people barging in. Ron, with his freckles and red hair. Sirius, long haired and strong. They rushed toward him, crushing him. Followed by two lanky twins, the same red-haired girl, a plump woman, two smiling men, and a Metamorphmagus.

"Merlin! I am fine!" yelled Harry. Not that he was angry at all at the crowd. More annoyed at the overwhelming attention.

Mrs. Weasley looked at him, motherly affection quickly replaced by righteous anger. "Now young man, what do you think you were doing, abandoning your relatives like that?" she scolded. "What happened to -

"Now, now, Molly. I am sure he had his reasons." The calm, collected voice of the Headmaster arrived. He was tall and domineering, his stride swift yet unhurried. The ever-present twinkle in his eyes shined, and his mouth curved into a slight smile. "May I talk with him? Alone?" he asked, the question anything but that.

Everyone filtered out, the twins winking at Harry, Sirius frowning at Dumbledore, Molly enraged but silent. The Headmaster sat on Harry's bed, looking at him questioningly. "Do you mind explaining what happened?" He wordlessly cast a few privacy spells, to prevent the twins from using their toys.

Harry sighed under the gaze of Dumbledore. He trusted the man so completely, even though he suspected much was being hidden from him. And probably even more than he suspected, if he knew Dumbledore at all. Which, to be fair, he did not. Nobody did. Or so he thought. Quickly, he compiled his thoughts. "The short version, or the long?" he asked, drawing a chuckle from the old man.

"Harry, as you well know, the short story is more enlightening than the long one. The basics will suffice, I think, as usual."

Harry nodded. "Well, it started with a very interesting day at… the house. The Dursley's sent me out, ambushed me, attacked me with… well something. Probably pots and pans or something of the like." He grimaced, remembering the events.

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed sharply. This was unacceptable. He had thought that now, after years of non-abuse and the threat of Sirius… no, that was his issue. He thought too much. Perhaps, less thought and more action. But what was action without thought? Useless, the very thing he preached against. He would be a hypocrite, no greater than Fudge. But still, a compromise must be made between idealism and pragmatism. He had learned to do as much in the last true war.

Harry had continued. "I escaped from St. Mungo's. Quite easy really, surprisingly. No security, nothing. They should look into that. It's quite easy for someone in their right mind to leave." He smiled at Dumbledore. "Yeah, definitely look into that." Dumbledore simply gestured at him to continue, ignoring his comments.

"I wandered about a little. Got kinda lost down Vindel Alley." At this, Dumbledore cocked his head to the side. Vindel Alley. What was in there? Anything important? Dark? There was certainly Ennervexus Ilioma's shop, which sold dark objects. But that was under strict wards, especially at night. Runic Roman, which traded runic items, never for money, though. The Soul Catchers, who would attempt to read your soul. None of which were particularly dangerous or likely for Harry to explore.

"Eventually I grew tired and slept on a roof. Neat bit of magic, if I can say so myself," Harry had a lopsided grin. "Levitated a piece of cement with me on it."

Dumbledore chuckled, agreeing. "Why didn't you contact us, Harry. Or even try to?" He questioned gently, wishing to understand the boy's motives.

Harry looked down, unwilling to meet the eyes of the Headmaster. He scratched at his hair idly for a second. "Erm. Well. I… well I sorta enjoyed the independence, you know. I wanted to be able to do what I wanted." His confidence grew as he continued to speak. "Every summer, every damn summer I have to live with people I call family on the barest of technicalities. Every summer I am confined to the Muggle world, confined to a room, confined without magic, without friends, without even communication. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of secrecy, I'm sick of manipulation. What makes you better than them if I'm just as much a pawn to you as I am to Voldemort? Am I not just as safe from Voldemort under the Order, with friends? Am I not just as safe with you? With Sirius, here? Wherever here is? And Hogwarts? The blood protection magic of the house doesn't keep me safe. It keeps me held up and ignorant, like a pig waiting to be slaughtered. I want freedom, and if I get the chance, like I did, I'll bloody well take it, and I won't be answerable to you." Harry finished, standing, almost yelling, glaring heavily at Dumbledore, who stared back impassively.

Dumbledore continued looking back. Inside, he had shrunk a little. Outside, he was expressionless, waiting for Harry to drop out of the heat of the moment. Well the moment had come. Harry had finally become _Harry_.

Harry suddenly sat, looked down, again unable to meet the blue eyes in front of him. "I'm sorry, Professor. That was out of line," he muttered, still looking down.

Sighing heavily, Dumbledore spoke. "I'm afraid you are right, Harry. I am truly sorry. Truly, I am. Today I have seen you become your own man. And that is why today I feel ready to burden that man with the weight of the sky." He closed his eyes for a second, breathing slowly before his revelation.

Harry had looked up, questioningly, concerned. "Harry. Fifteen years ago, a prophecy was made. It was told to me, and it was regarding you. You and Voldemort."

It pained Dumbledore to see the eyes of Harry. Their fire, burning bright only moments before, had dulled suddenly, almost as if he knew what was coming. "The seer said this: "_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."_

Harry digested the prophecy in growing horror. _He_ would have to defeat Voldemort? Alone? And… this was why his life was as it was. This was why his parents had died. This was why he had the bloody scar. This was why he lived with the Dursleys. This was why he faced Voldemort, time and time again.

"Harry, I'm sorry. But yes, this means you are the one to fight Voldemort. You are the one who must sacrifice everything for everyone. You are the Chosen One." Dumbledore smiled sadly at the young man before him. "Do you want to say anything?"

Harry shook his head, completely lost in his own thoughts. This was his life. Screw future plans, screw relationships, screw happiness. His life was to kill Voldemort, nothing more, nothing less.

Dumbledore stood. "Anything you need Harry. Anytime. I will not repeat my mistakes. My door is open." He walked out, ended the privacy spells, and left.

Moments later, the flood of red hair and color and bubbly joy re-entered, surrounding the young man, breaking his thoughts of death and fate, and enchanted him with the spirit of love, his worries forgotten.

* * *

**I must apologize to my few readers. I do plan on finishing this story, be it this year or in ten. I have a long plan laid out, which amounts to two main phases, aka books I guess. Updates will not be constant at all, but they will happen, given time. Apparently it took me a year to write ~5000 words, I would hope my rate picks up, else I will be writing on my deathbed. :)**

**Please comment btw! ← Very helpful in writing. **

**(But yes, now that I have started once again, updates will take less time)**


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